


A Mortal Heart

by Fatally_Procrastinating



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Demonic Possession, F/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3847525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatally_Procrastinating/pseuds/Fatally_Procrastinating
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen is dead, but a Desire Demon has claimed the body for his own with the intent to enjoy all that the world has to offer. With all the new emotions to experience, will the Inquisitor's love change him for the better or will he succumb to his demonic nature?<br/><a href="http://fatally-procrastinating.tumblr.com/post/116748866456/a-possessed-cullen-what-if-scenario">Based on this idea off tumblr.</a> (non-con because the Inquisitor doesn't know who she's <i>actually</i> sleeping with)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The first breath and the last

Breathing hurt.

The dragging hiss of the lungs as they expanded, the empty dizziness of the head as oxygen poured through it. Damon brought the hands up to stare at them, eyes narrowing at their thick bluntness. He flexed and squeezed them, testing their power.

Cullen was dead.

His spirit had departed for the Fade, at any rate. Damon clenched the hands again, _his_ hands and reveled in the stretch of the still-warm skin, the tug of the tendons, the subtle creak of the bones. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the scent of the battlefield. Blood, death, disgusting: he loved it. Every nerve in the body burned. The scratch of the undershirt, the cold metal on the neck where the armor touched. The deep blue of the sky, the soft glow of the corrupted lyrium. He loved it all. It was _his_ to experience, _his_ to feel.

"Cullen!"

Damon blinked, turning at the sound. The body was stiff. He'd healed the wounds that had claimed the Commander's life but it didn't stop the dull ache that made the spine shudder when he moved. He cleared the—his—throat. "I'm here."

Arms wrapped around his neck; long brown hair flew into his face. He smelled tears. "You're alive. Thank the Maker, you're alive!"

Damon stared at her, recognizing the Inquisitor from all the nights he'd spent watching her in the Fade. She'd been so bright then—a beacon amidst the black. "I'm alive," he said, pulling her closer. Her hair smelled of vanilla and parchment. When it brushed against his face, it was softer than silk. Her breath was sweet when she cupped his face, pressing her forehead against his.

"Thank the Maker," she sobbed before catching him in a kiss.

Damon savored the emotions on her lips: panic, fear, joy, relief, _desire_. He pressed her body close to his own, slipping his tongue into her mouth. It was different with a body of his own. Tasting her, feeling her warmth, fingers tugging at his hair. The blood within him burned as he pressed her down, knowing this routine well.

"Cullen." She broke apart with a laugh, her hand pressing on his chest.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She was smiling as she stared at his eyes, looking at the man who was already gone. "I'm glad you're alive too, but we should save _that_ part for later."

"Later…?" He stared at her lips, tongue running along his own. He'd seen the pair of them, watched them as all Spirits watched from beyond the Veil. Fingers digging into her skin, a moan on her lips, body squirming for more. It was all his now.

"Yes, later." She kissed him again, a gentle gesture he wasn't sure what to do with. "Once we're alone."

"Do you promise?"

"Of course." She clung to him, a grin plastered on her face.

Damon tucked her under his chin, fingers running along her back. There were so many pleasures in this world, so many things to experience. And tonight, he'd start with her.  

 


	2. Drawing on the mask

Damon stared at the grape within his fingers, admiring the rich purple of the skin and how the fruit inside slowly crushed beneath his tightening grasp. Popping the half-squished piece into his mouth, his eyes fluttered shut as he savored the explosion of sweetness that flooded his tongue. The squeeze of the neck when he swallowed, the subtle satisfaction in his stomach: mortals took too much for granted.

"Cullen?"

He blinked then turned towards the sound. Elana sat on the edge of her bed, brown hair spilling down over her shoulders. The memory of the gentle brush against his skin still made it prickle and burn. Elana smiled when she tucked the hair behind her ear, blue eyes peering out from long lashes. She was pale and beautifully long-limbed. Clad in nothing but a thin shift, Damon appreciated the full curves of her hips and the swell of her breasts. Like the grape, Cullen had failed to appreciate the woman he'd had: Damon wouldn't make that same mistake.

"Are you coming to bed?" she asked.

"Of course." He smiled as he set the bowl of grapes aside. "Forgive me."

Elana's soft laughter made his ears tingle. "That depends on how good you are tonight."

Damon's chuckle made his chest rumble as he stalked towards her, savoring the feel of the rough stone on his bare feet; the scratch of the linen undershirt; the slight draft from the large windows. When he was within arm's length of the Inquisitor, he pounced. Her laughter echoed off the walls as he pressed her down onto the bed, lips on her neck. Warm. _Everything_ about her was warm. The blood pulsing through her veins, her fingers in his hair, the acceptance of her spreading legs.

Damon smirked as he continued his trail of kisses down her neck. Desire swirled along the surface of her skin the way heat swirled and dissipated on a cold day. He drank it in, his body shuddering as her emotions mounted and pulsed. Love, affection, joy, relief, _desire_. He moved up and caught Elana in a deep kiss, moaning freely into her mouth. By the Black City, he could almost taste it on her tongue.

"I want to go slow tonight," he murmured against her lips, knowing how Cullen would touch her and please her with more than just his body. "Is that all right?"

"Slow?" Elana asked, voice darkening with her eyes. "After all that happened today?"

Damon grinned. "I'm glad to be alive and I want to make tonight last."

Her head fell back onto the bed, hair pooling around her. She wriggled her hips in a playful gesture and winked, snickering under her breath. Her laughter shattered when he ran his hand along her thigh. Soft. Softer than the silk she wore. He took his time. He peeled her layers off inch by inch, drowning her skin in kisses, fingers worshipping the curves and planes of her body. Compared to the Fade, this was infinity itself. Not someone else's body, not someone else's dream. This was _his_.

Elana sighed Cullen's name, eyes closing under his caress. Damon chuckled as he continued his exploration. The Commander could never have made her feel like this, no matter how hard he tried. But Damon, _he_ could read every change in her body, could feel even the smallest of reactions. In moments, she was panting, writhing, begging for more. He smiled against her skin, savoring every brush of his lips. His own enjoyment mixed with her own, the pair of them mounting together towards a dizzying high.

 _Cullen. Yes, like that._ _Cullen!_

Elana was bright beneath him. The mark on her hand fizzled and burned with every sigh and moan. She clung to him when he joined her in her pleasure, calling out the Commander's name even as Damon kissed her. He watched her when her desire flared and burst, watched the emotions that played across her skin like light drifting in through a stained-glass window. There were more than he'd expected, more than before. A tenderness swept through her and he buried his face into her neck, unable to meet her eyes. She was worried: worried about his please, his enjoyment, his desire.

Damon wound a hand through the sheets, teeth gritting as they reached completion.

"I love you, Cullen." Elana whispered as she tucked herself beneath his chin, lips trailing along one of the scars cut across his chest. "I'm so glad you made it out safely, for a moment I thought..."

Damon swallowed hard, frowning at the unexpected shift. The desire was there, swirling and sated beneath her skin, but it was fading, overpowered. Her fingers traced lazy patterns between scars as she kissed and nibbled along his collarbone, laughing under her breath. Affection filled every gesture. She nuzzled against him and he felt the grin on her lips. This wasn't how it worked, not in the Fade. The mages he'd known had always burned for more. They'd always demanded more, their desires damning them in Damon's hands. This was... he didn't know how to handle this.

"I love you," Elana murmured again, cheek resting on his chest where his heart pounded and stuttered at her touch.

"I..." Damon rubbed along her back with an absent hand. "I know you do." He pressed a light kiss to her forehead and pulled the blankets up to cover her. He needed to leave. Needed to leave before the affection in her voice infected him. He made to slip out from the covers, claim the excuse of work, but his body froze when her arms wrapped around him.

"Don't ever scare me like that again, Cullen. If I lost you, I..."

Fear, anguish, despair, pain.

Damon winced at the flood of it all; he pulled her closer. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I can't lose you, Cullen."

"You won't."

"Promise me."

He clenched his jaw when her eyes turned on him, wide and worried. "I promise," he whispered before catching her in a sedate kiss. "I'm not going anywhere, Elana."

Damon held her to him until sleep closed her eyes. His fingers ran absently along her spine, tracing patterns of nonsense as her heart slowed to a steady beat. His own chest ached as his heart sputtered. Perhaps he hadn't been as quick as he'd thought. Cullen's last breath had been Damon's first but perhaps more time had passed than he'd realized. If the body was already beginning to fail... He glanced around the large room. He'd seen the mages around Skyhold, the templars too. They would grant no mercy or understanding if he made himself known.

Slipping from Elana's arms, he walked over the balcony. Did he leave? Where would he even go? He leaned against the railing, the cold air washing the warring emotions from his heart. Petty things. They did nothing but cloud his purpose. Turning back to the sleeping woman, he smiled at the steady rise and fall of her chest. She would never let another hurt him, not while he kept Cullen's body alive and warm for her. No. He'd stay. For now.

Damon slipped on leather breeches and a thin tunic before abandoning Elana's room for the kitchens below. How people went all day with only eating three meals he would never know. The taste, the texture, the smell: if the Commander's stomach allowed it, Damon would've never stopped stuffing food down his mouth. Chuckling to himself under his breath, he came to a stop in the main hall. Desire drifted through the air like the scent of oranges.

Closing his eyes, he breathed in deep, following the path until his eyes fell on a young mage studying in the corner. She was a girl of no more than seventeen: fresh and inexperienced. When she glanced up, their eyes met. Her cheeks burned and she turned away with a nervous rub of her cheek. He smirked as he started stalking forward. Even from the other end of the room, the desire to be touched rolled off her like steam. So many fantasies for one so young, each more delicious than the last.

He was almost to the table when a hand pressed against his chest. "You'll make her sad."

Damon turned on the interruption with a snarl. He froze

"If you touch the other girl, you'll hurt Elana." Compassion tilted his chin up, pale eyes burning in rage. "Anger, envy, _am I not enough for him?_ I won't allow that to happen: she deserves better."

Damon scoffed as he eyed the creature before him. A spirit in human form: how could one of their own be so selfish? 'Compassion,' indeed. Letting the rest of those trapped in the Fade suffer while he paraded about in a suit of skin. "She won't believe you if you tell her the truth. No one here will believe you."

Compassion's hand fell away as he circled Damon. "I don't plan on telling them. Not yet, anyway. You made her happy tonight. She'd be sad if she knew the truth: _Maker, why? Why did you take him away from me?_ "

Damon stiffened when he felt the cold edge of a knife placed against his throat. Pain sparked across the skin, making him stiffen and shudder at the unexpected intensity.

"I won't tell them what you are. But if you ever hurt Elana, or anyone here, if you start to become a monster, I'll kill you myself."


	3. Becoming something more

Damon sat on the edge of Elana’s bed as he watched her sleep. He rubbed his neck, the skin still stinging from Compassion’s blade. Stuck to a single person. That would be an interesting change. He stared at Elana: could one person provide him everything he required? Crawling across the bed, Damon studied the Inquisitor’s face. She looked different in the real world: less bright, less unique.

He ran his knuckles along the curve of her cheek and smiled.

 _This_ was better, though. The feel of her. The warmth. The way she moved in closer to his lightest touch.

The Commander’s name fell from her lips and Damon leaned in to taste the sound. Elana carried her emotions in her words. Love. Adoration. Trust. Desire. He latched onto her lust as he deepened their kiss, fanning the spark of lust that lay on her tongue.

Elana laughed, arms wrapping around his neck. “Morning to you, too.”

He pressed in closer, her body nearly humming under his touches. Her hand came to his chest. He frowned when she pushed him away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Damon trailed a hand up to her breast, satisfaction trickling down his spine when her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted in a silent gasp. “Don’t you want this?”

“Y-yes, but—” She gasped and her desire flared. Fingers dug into his back. She tugged against him and he let her shift their positions, smirking freely when she hovered above him. He waited as Elana kissed him; waited for her desires to grow too strong for her to resist any longer. She was so close. He could feel her heat beckoning to him. Damon pouted when she sat higher up on his stomach, laughing at his expression while she ran her fingers through his already ruffled hair.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this eager, Commander.” Her voice was teasing and soft, loving.

Damon bit back a curse. He didn’t _want_ loving, he wanted her to squirm and writhe. He wanted scratches on his back, bites on his neck, lips swollen from her attention. He wanted to consume her passion and be consumed in return.

“I feel like a new person since the battle.” He placed his hands on her hips, thumbs running along the steep curves. “As though I’m truly alive for the first time.”

“I can see that.” Elana grinned. Her fingertips traced down his jawline and across his bottom lip. Blue eyes softened as she stared at him and Damon struggled to maintain the contact. Tender. Gentle. _I love you so much_.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Damon said. He turned away at last, using the excuse to reach for the water goblet nearby. He took a sip, wishing the water did more to cool the heat building within his body. His heart was pounding out of control, stomach clenching, throat growing tight in anticipation. _Cullen’s_ reactions, to be sure, not his. “Perhaps this _should_ wait till later.”

“Oh? And I was just starting to warm up to the idea.” She lowered her hips and his protest choked.

Cullen would’ve laughed at the pun. _Warm indeed_. Damon’s eyes rolled back into his head as lust dripped from her skin, pulling him in, calling him, claiming him.

“I—”

Her desire was layered. He reached out to her, trying to focus, trying to separate the emotions he wanted from the affection that boiled in her veins like poison. But this wasn’t the Fade. When he brought her close, her love seeped through his skin, drowning him from the inside. Damon flipped her onto the bed, pressing her face-down as he took her from behind. She cried out. Fingers wound through sheets, hair spilled down her back. Warm. _So warm_. He kissed along her spine and drank in her desire as it burned within her. If he could just focus hard enough, hold on tight enough to the parts of her he wanted.

_Cullen. Yes. Cullen!_

Damon buried his face against her back, barely holding in his snarl as her emotions overwhelmed his own.

 _I love you. Maker, I love you_.

He groaned in response, driving her to completion. He had to hurry, had to get away before she consumed everything. She collapsed beneath him, panting the Commander’s name. Damon hovered above her, eyes closing as he fought to keep his composure, to keep in character.

Cullen would be protected. Damon would be killed.

“I like this new side of you,” Elana said with a laugh. Squirming around on the bed, her arms wrapped around his neck. He was powerless when she tugged him down. Her tongue was like honey and he savored the way it lingered on his lips. “It’ll be a fun challenge trying to keep up with you.”

Damon smirked as he ran his knuckles along her side. What would Cullen say to get away? He scoffed. The Commander would’ve made any excuse to _stay_ in bed with the woman Damon now held.

“I um…” He closed his eyes when she caressed his cheek, her fingers working their way up into his hair. Damon caught her hand and pressed a kiss against her palm, trying to draw in the last dregs of her lust before they left her. Contentment. Love. Comfort.

They made him wince and he buried his face against her neck to hide the gesture. She laughed when the stubble of his chin scraped against her skin.

“I,” he stuttered and tried again, “I’m afraid I have to go.”

“Already?” Elana asked with a pout. She pressed light kisses to his forehead and cheeks. “And it was starting out as such a good morning.”

“Almost dying brings a lot of paperwork, I’m afraid.”

“Fine. Go and _be_ the Commander then.” She nuzzled in closer and groaned when he began to move away. “But you’ll come back here tonight, won’t you, Cullen?”

He blanched. Had she noticed something wrong? A grimace he hadn’t hid?

 _If you hurt her… I’ll kill you myself_.

Compassion’s threat hung over Damon’s head like the blade of a guillotine.

“Is there any reason I wouldn’t?” he asked.

She smiled. “No reason at all, and yet I still find you working in that office of your until dawn most days.”

“Oh, yes. _That._ ” Damon forced a laugh to match the warm teasing in her face. “I’ll come back to you; I promise.” He gave a swift kiss to her lips before pulling away. Steady movements. Not too fast. Can’t let her suspect. Can’t let Compassion doubt. Abandoning the Inquisitor for the stairs, Damon stopped on the first landing to catch his breath. Elana’s emotions lingered inside him. If he didn’t figure out how to block them, they would fester like an infection eating away at an open wound.

Pushing off, he took the stairs at a run, barely slowing his pace as he tore through the great hall of Skyhold and down into the courtyard. Several soldiers nodded in acknowledgement. He mumbled back, struggling to remember their names. Watching through the Fade had only allowed him to learn so much. Slipping into the Herald’s Rest, Damon’s shoulders relaxed in a sigh.

A young couple gripped at each other in a darkened corner. Wine mingled with their breaths, heat pooled and burned within them. More. _More._ Maker, they needed more or they were going to burst! A man in the wrong shape watched the steady scrubbing of one of the maids, admiring the way her hair fell across her skin when she leaned down to wring her cloth into a bucket. _Let her see me. Let her see the_ real _me._ The Qunari had his eyes on less innocent places. The swell of the Lady’s breasts, the bulge in the soldier’s breeches. His thoughts flickered to the heady taste of tanned skin and the heat of fire growing with another man’s moans. He wanted it all: wanted everything people were willing to give.

Damon shuddered at the desire swirling around the room, feeling as though he could breathe easy for the first time since he’d walked out of the Fade. His smile came easy as he climbed the stairs with a renewed fervor.

“Com—” Damon cleared his throat. “Cole, do you have a moment?”

Compassion glared at him from under the wide brim of his hat. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Won’t I ‘hurt’ Elana if I leave?”

“Not here— _here_. This is my place.”

“I’m not trying to steal it from you.”

“You’re taking everything else. _His_ body, _his_ love, _his_ life.”

“ _His_ corpse wasn’t going to be doing much with any of that. I’m doing him a favor.”

Compassion scoffed but didn’t deny the claim. Damon knew he couldn’t. Elana was smiling and happy now because of what Damon had done.

“You have to choose,” Compassion said. “Do you want to become more like _him_ or more like _you_.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You hate them: they burn and boil beneath your skin, threatening to break the mask you have to wear. If you don’t learn how to handle the flux of emotions, the others are going to find out and you _will_ die. So, do you accept them and become more like Cullen, or do you reject them and stay as you are?”

“That’ll only put me back in the Fade.” Damon sneered at the very idea of it. “I’ve spent more years trying to escape that Maker forsaken pit than this body has been breathing. I’m here to stay.”

“Then you must learn to accept it all: even the parts you don’t like.”

“And you’ll teach me how?”

Compassion blinked and turned to him. “ _Me?_ ”

“There’s not exactly a lot of people I can talk to about my situation. Why yes, hello there Seeker. The man you made Commander is dead and I’m inhabiting his body for a while: hope you don’t mind. Oh! What a lovely sword you have in your hands.”

Compassion’s lips turned up in a barely repressed laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s just… Varric wouldn’t believe this. Too outlandish even for his books.”

“You’re not going to tell him, are you?”

Compassion shot him a glare that made Damon mutter, “Forget I asked.”

“You need to learn to… accept things as they are. Nothing here changes just because you want it to. If you’re going to _be_ Cullen, then you have to learn to love Elana. There was nothing he cared for more than her. Stronger when her arms held him, hope in his heart, love on his lips: _Maker, let me stay with her forever._ ”

Damon crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the railing. “That’s easier said than done, I don’t _love_ things. That’s not what I am.”

“It could be.”

“But it’s not.”

“But it _could_ be.” Compassion joined his side, pale eyes wandering Cullen’s body. “You love the taste of warm bread, and the tingling of red wine, and the wind on your skin. Would it really be so terrible to love Elana as well?”

“It’s… it’s different with her. My heart races and my head goes light. I don’t like my stomach feeling tight and fluttery when she touches me. She— _I_ —” Damon sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to change. He didn’t want to become something else and forget who he was.

“It’s not so bad,” Compassion said. “You don’t leave behind what you had, you just become bigger to make it all fit.”

Damon stared at the other spirit as he weighed his options. He could leave and hope to find what he wanted, hope that no one would chase after him. He could return to the Fade and abandon everything he’d come to enjoy. Or, he could become Cullen Rutherford.

“All right,” Damon said. “Where do I start?”

 


	4. Poetry

Poetry was why the Maker had abandoned Thedas.

Damon flipped through another page, the sneer only growing on his lips as he read another line about another 'beauty beyond compare' written by yet another sap. Honestly, mortals were pathetic at this. No wonder the Maker had kept them out of the Fade: if these 'writers' had the chance to shape a world all their own, they wouldn't have had enough creativity to conjure a single blade of glass.

With a huff, he shut the book and tossed it aside. "There's no point to this."

"Do you want to be more human or not?" Compassion asked.

"How in the Black City is reading this trite supposed to help me settle into this body? I already know how to get men and women into my bed—with relative ease, I might remind you. I need to find out how to not feel…" Damon shuddered at the memory of Elana's love seeping into his skin and climbing through his veins towards his heart, infecting him. Even now, Cullen's body warmed at the memory, excitement tingling between the fingers. To touch the smoothness of her skin, feel the warmth of her chest. She would sigh when he touched her, when he kissed her neck. She would be sweet and warm and welcoming and—

Damon shook his head, spine shuddering at the intrusion of Cullen’s emotions: he’d be torn apart if this continued too long.

Compassion picked up the book of poetry, his slender fingers running along the spine before he held it out in offering. "You need to read the whole thing, and then I'll help you on the next step."

"There must be something easier," Damon groaned. "Give me over to be chewed on by a pack of mabari, set me up against a High Dragon, task me with breaking into the Black City itself with nothing but my bare hands—anything but this!"

The other spirit merely smiled and extended his reach, prompting Damon to take the book.

"Compassion, my arse. You're Cruelty if ever I met it."

"The emotions are a part of you now. A permanent part if you want to stay in Cullen's body. You fight them, hate them, deny them even as they boil up inside you. That's the wrong direction. Run towards the chaos, not away from it."

Damon scoffed. "Says the spirit who wanted to be bound with blood magic."

"I was… different then. I didn't understand."

Damon rolled his eyes at the meekness Compassion tried to portray. Though Compassion didn't quite suit him anymore. But neither did Cole. This _creature_ rested somewhere in between the two.

"If you don't believe me," Compassion said, "I'll show you in a different way." He started down the steps of the Herald's Rest without another word, drifting in between the other patrons.

"Hold on!" Damon yelled before scrambling down the steps. He cleared his throat when he hit the landing, straightening his stance before he followed after the other spirit. Cullen. He was Cullen now. Cullen would be calm and composed, removed from his annoyance as he strode towards the main hall.

Compassion stopped at the doors, waving at Damon for him to catch up before slipping into one of the darker corners. "There," he said, pointing to the Inquisitor. Elana sat between Cassandra and Varric, her head thrown back in laughter as the three of them drank and ate.

"And the point of seeing this is…?"

"Describe her like Cullen would if he were writing a poem."

"Cullen would've sooner walked throughout Skyhold naked."

"Her eyes burn me and I would gladly catch fire if it meant staying in her gaze. She stands before the darkness and embraces the danger. Maker, I want to feel her strength as she clings to me; I want to taste the courage on her lips. Let me be worthy of her. Let me worthy of the love she offers." Compassion smirked from beneath the brim of his hat. "Perhaps you didn't study Cullen as well as you thought."

Damon grumbled under his breath, arms crossing his chest in a huff.

“See Elana through Cullen’s eyes. None of this will work unless you can. That body _will_ reject you eventually. You’ve felt it already, haven’t you. It’s only been a few days and you’re already feeling the strain, hearing the constant buzz as though the Fade itself is calling you back.”

“Shut up!” Damon hissed, glaring at the other spirit. He’d shut the humming out. Or _thought_ he had. The buzz had wormed its way into his brain whispering of the power—the _control_ —he’d held on the other side.

“Look at her.”

Damon turned.

Elana was beautiful. It wasn’t a matter of debate or opinion. Her brown hair fell down her shoulders in a gentle curl; he smiled as he recalled the way her hair had lain on the tops of her breasts the night before. The way that gentle curl had risen and fallen with her soft breaths. Soft. He’d yet to find anything as soft as her: her skin, her touch, the curve of her jaw, the shape of her lips. Sweet. Sweeter than the wine in her glass or the laughter echoing through the hall. In all his years in the Fade, he had never created anything that could surpass her.

Blue eyes fell on him and Cullen’s heart squeezed to the point of pain. Elana smiled and the heart skipped.

Damon clenched his jaw, resting against the entryway. She was too far for her emotions to affect him. Too far for her love to wrap its tendrils around his arms, pulling him in. And yet… her love was there, pumping into his veins, beating its way into his heart, overwhelming him.

A hand pressed him forward.

Damon stumbled before catching himself mid-step. His cheeks burned as he transitioned into a march, barreling straight to Elana’s side. Her eyes had followed him the entire way; her tongue ran along her lower lip, gathering an errant drop of wine. By the Black City, he wished he’d been the one to lick it clean. He ached to kiss her, to taste the wine that lingered there.

"May I pull you away for a moment?" he asked instead.

“Of course.”

He grinned when she tripped over Varric’s leg, catching her before she fell to the floor. The tightness of his chest was an exquisite agony. His skin burned where she touched. She mumbled an apology to the dwarf as her cheeks turned a fetching pink. He held her hand tight, letting their fingers twine as they walked towards her room. She was laughing, face pressed against his shoulder in light embarrassment.

Damon stopped when the door to her wing closed behind them. She turned, breath short, pulse thrumming on the side of her neck. He took her chin, tilting her face up. He could do it. He could love her if he tried.

“Elana, I…”

“Kiss me.”

He did. Open-mouthed, hard, languid and lingering. He sighed her name when she ran her fingers through his hair. Emotions burst from her as they always did: desire, lust, joy, contentment, love. They became a sweet poison sinking into his lips, daring him to take a deeper taste. Damon murmured her name as he pressed her up against the wall.

 _I love you_.

A lie. For now. But if he gave in, if he let himself be changed…

Elana cried out for Cullen when Damon kissed her neck. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she pulled him closer. He wanted this. Wanted her. Her love surrounded him, wrapped around him. It would be so easy to let go now.

Closing his eyes, Damon pressed his lips back to hers and fell. 


	5. Love's a Heavy Burden

Damon traced his knuckles along the exposed portion of Elana’s spine. His fingers trailed down to the blanket clinging at her hips before he retraced the line with his lips. She sighed, her shoulder blades moving in time with her quick intake of breath.

“Cullen?”

Sleep lay heavy on her voice. She mumbled and groaned as she rubbed her face. Piercing blue eyes looked at him, crinkling in the corners with her smile.

“Good morning,” he said.

She stretched out her limbs like a cat, delicate fingers flexing before she curled up at his side with an absent kiss to his shoulder. “I like waking up this way.”

“Me too.” The smile felt strange on his face, new and foreign. Brushing the hair from her face, he leaned in and kissed her. It had been nearly a week since Cullen’s death. A week with Elana in his arms. He still wasn’t used to the way his heart skipped when she felt his lips on her skin.

“Mmm,” she hummed, returning the kiss without hesitation. “I love you.”

“I…” He cleared his throat, the words sticking between his teeth like taffy. She said the phrase so easily, so freely. To him, it was heavier than lead. “Do you really?”

Elana propped herself on an elbow. Her hand cupped his cheek, thumb tracing the scar along his lip. He glanced down to her breasts. They’d been soft and warm when he’d rested his head against them last night after their exertions. He’d listened to her heartbeat, her steady breathing, felt the words vibrate in her chest long before they left her lips. They’d been… comfortable. Her embrace, her touch, her voice—they calmed him, eased the ache that her love had first caused. The pain was still there, drifting across her skin, cradled in her palms but it was a pain he craved—an exquisite agony he wanted to lose himself in.

“Do you really love me, Elana?” he asked again. “Do you love me as I am right now?”

“Of course I do.” Lines crept into her forehead with her frown. She moved closer and eased her arms around his neck. Maker, he loved the way she touched him. No one else had ever touched him like that: with gentle care, a near-reverent hesitation in her fingers. “I love you, Cullen.”

Cullen. Ex-templar. Commander. Lover to the Inquisitor.

“Yes,” Damon murmured, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to the palm, drinking the concern off her skin. It shuddered down his spine. _He_ was Cullen now. “I know you do. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” Kisses down her arm, up to her shoulder, across her neck. Her sigh was immediate and familiar. _This_ he knew. He could work the worry from her face with moans and clenching fingers, replace the frown with an expression of sated contentment. He would _show_ his love: or what he had in place of it.

Elana was smiling again, pulling him down on top of her, legs wrapping around him, fingers on the back of his neck.

Damon moved above her. Warm, welcoming, _wanting_.

He kissed her, grinning at her laugh, drinking in her emotions with a wanton thirst. He ran his hand along her side, thrilling at the way her giggle turned into a groan with such ease. He deepened the kiss, shifting closer, wanting every part of her.

His body stopped short.

The shoulders clenched, hips froze, knees locked. Damon stared at her, his nails digging into the sheets below them. He couldn’t do it.

 _Cullen_ , she was calling. _Cullen, what’s wrong?_

Her words echoed through his head, twisting into accusations.

Cullen.

Cullen?

 _You’re not Cullen_.

“No!”

Damon stumbled back, falling off the bed. He landed hard, rolling onto his feet, his chest heaving with a sickening wheeze. He clutched at his throat, breaths short and burdened.

_Get away!_

He looked up and his gut twisted with the worry in Elana’s face.

_Monster! Don’t touch me._

She would hate him. She would hate him and curse him and call for his death if she knew the truth. If he ever faltered on his path—would she even stop to listen to his pleas before attacking? Would she believe his love then?

_Demon!_

“I’m sorry,” Damon said, scrambling towards the washroom. “I don’t feel well. Just give me a moment.”

Damon slammed the door behind him with enough force to set the basin rattling on the counter. Snatching up the small mirror, he stared at the reflection. Cullen’s curly hair, Cullen’s lip scar, Cullen’s brown eyes. He saw the man whose body he’d taken but beneath it all—beneath the lies—pale gold eyes stared back at him. Purple skin lined with green cracks reminiscent of the rifts stretched and wrinkled when he moved his head. Brown horns curled around the sides of his face. Chains draped around his neck and across his chest, covering little of the body that had been designed for pleasure.

Damon blinked and his true reflection faded like the ghost of a memory. Clenching his fist, he drove it into the nearby wall. That wasn’t him anymore! He was Cullen now.

Cullen.

Cullen.

Cullen.

He chanted the name in his head as though the repetition would change what he’d seen in the mirror. He had Cullen’s body, Cullen’s strength and force of will. He had Cullen’s clothes and rank and prowess. He had Elana.

_Elana._

Damon glanced back to the mirror and a smile curled Cullen’s lips. He knew how to fix this. He knew how to end the ghost’s haunt.

Damon latched onto the door handle, nearly tearing it off in his haste to open the door.

Elana was standing there, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “ _What_ is going on? You’ve been acting strangely ever since we got back from—”

Damon kissed her soft and slow, hands cupping her cheeks. “I know,” he murmured against her lips. “I’ve been a fool. But everything’s about to go back to normal.” He pressed his forehead to hers, drinking in the soft vanilla scent of her hair. “I promise, Elana.”

He kissed her again, lips lingering. In their heated moments together, he’d never really kissed her before. Not like this. Their kisses had always been the start of something more, the teasing taste that drew her in and filled her with lust.

Damon held her close, one hand on the small of her back as tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth before soothing the bite over with his tongue. He lavished each of her lips, supporting her weight as her knees grew weak, her fingers digging into his shoulder. He kissed her thoroughly, memorizing her taste, her sigh, the feel of her tongue.

“Elana.” Her name left him as a groan when he finally pulled apart and buried his face into her neck. He would become Cullen for both of them. “I… I’ve never felt this way about someone before. I _love_ you, Elana.”

“I know that.” She kissed his cheek and he felt her smile.

“No. You don’t understand.” He stared at her, at the beautiful mess of her disheveled hair, at the subtle puffiness to the lips he’d kissed. “I didn’t think I could feel this way. I’ve seen it others. I’ve seen it so many times that I thought I knew what it meant, what it might feel like.” The clog of his heart, the flip of his stomach, the way his chest tightened in delightful agony at the barest hint of attention from her.

“You… you’ve changed all of that; you’ve changed _me_. When I say that I love you, I mean it. I mean it with all that I am.”

Elana blinked, an odd mix of emotion trickling down her face. He kissed her again, eyes closing as he held her.

“I believe you,” she murmured against his lips.

“I love you,” Damon repeated. The words remained heavy on his tongue, burdened by the truth behind them but he said them again and again, kissing her each time. “There’s something I have to do, but I’ll be return soon. Will you wait for me?”

Elana was laughing. “One of these days, I’m going to figure out what’s going on in that head of yours, Commander. Of course I’ll wait.”

Damon smiled, excitement beginning to bubble in his chest. Cullen. That would be _his_ name soon enough.

“I love you,” he said one last time before tearing himself from her side, pulling on an undershirt and a pair of breeches. He was still tugging them into place as he reached the main hall. He didn’t slow his pace. More than one member of the Inner Circle had started watching him with mild suspicion. He’d felt their muted gaze on the back of his neck as he moved. He was too relaxed, too loose. But that would cease to matter soon enough.

Damon ran up the stairs in Herald’s Rest three at a time, his chest heaving by the time he reached Cole’s corner. He grinned at the other spirit, feeling what he wanted most coming within his grasp.

“Cole, I want you to make me forget.” 


	6. The weight of a lie

“Will you help me forget?”

Cole stared up at him, a frown slowly forming between his washed-out eyes. “Forget?”

“What I am!” Damon’s cheeks ached with his grin. He stepped closer and clasped his hands on the other spirit’s shoulders. “Don’t you see? It can all work. If I forget what I am, _who_ I am then I can _become_ Cullen. No lies or deceit between Elana and I. I could become Cullen for her; she could be happy with me. _We_ could be happy. Isn’t it perfect?”

Cole’s blink was slow—drawn out as though he were trying to give Damon time to withdraw his words.

“What?” Damon asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I won’t do it.”

“Why?” The word came out like whip and Damon’s fingers tightened around Cole’s arms. “You said you wanted Elana to be happy. This would make her happy!”

“It’s a lie, and you know it. You could still be discovered. Your nature could change. Cullen’s body could reject you. How do you think she would feel then? To see Cullen vanish before her eyes, turning into you. And without your memory, you’d have no idea how to stop it; no idea how to take it all back before she saw you. _Monster. What did you do to Cullen? Why did you take him from me? Demon. Kill it!_ ”

“No!” Damon tore away, his heart pounding as a wave of fury coursed through his veins, curling his fingers into fists. “It wouldn’t be like that.”

“It would. Eventually.”

“But that’s not what I am anymore. I would never—” His words cut short at Cole’s glare and Damon turned with a light growl.

“You’re already losing control,” Cole said. “That anger pulsing through you. You’re fighting your desire to lash out, hoping it doesn’t overcome your will. If you forgot what you were, if you forgot what was at stake, that control would disappear with it. You _know_ this.”

“There has to be something,” Damon roared. “I don’t want to lie to her anymore. This deceit, it’s… it’s…” It was tearing him up inside: acid pulsing through his body with every beat of his heart.

Elana wanted Cullen. She loved _Cullen_.

He’d seen other spirits change before. Some corrupting into creatures of desire like him, others descending into the role of a living being. Why couldn’t he be one of them? Why couldn’t he become who Elana wanted? He wanted to hear _his_ name on her lips, to be the one she called out to in her moments of pleasure, to be the one her arms wrapped around in her sleep.

“There must be way,” Damon repeated in a whisper.

Cole sat down on the railing, watching Damon’s face from under the brim of his hat. “You love her.”

“Yes.”

“You want her to be happy.”

“ _Yes_.”

“You would do anything for her.”

“Of course!”

“…there is something.” Cole slipped from his perch, his wrists resting idly on his knees. “There is a chance to make things right: to make Elana happy. To keep everything from going wrong.”

“Tell me.”

Cole’s cold eyes burned. His hand came down on Damon’s shoulders, his grip firm and unforgiving. “Give Cullen his body back.”

Damon stared at the spirit for a moment before pushing away with a hiss. “Never. He died. This body is mine.”

“Spirits pass through the Fade before journeying on. You’ve seen inside Cullen’s heart. He would fight the transition with everything he had, he would fight to stay behind and watch over Elana. It’s only been a few days; his spirit could still be there, fighting to return to her side.  Give the body up, Damon.”

“No! It’s _mine_.” He pursed his lips at the errant glances from the patrons below. “Your proposal is a theory at best. His soul might be gone. Even if I did try to give it back— _which I won’t_ —this body will grow vacant and die. _I_ would die. Elana would only lose Cullen.”

“She’s already lost him. You’re a shell of what he was: an imposter. She’s already noticed. _Why does he look at me like that? I am no lost toy or new rarity. Why do I no longer recognize his smile?_ ”

Damon gathered the front of Cole’s shirt into his fists, slamming him up against the wall. “Then why did you help me? Why have you been—” The answer smashed into him, making his knees buckle and his grip weak. Cole had wanted Damon to feel this way; he’d wanted Damon to let go of the body willingly.

“You can still exist,” Cole said, not even blinking when Damon’s arms fell away. “I came through and stayed as I am. You don’t have to give up everything.”

“But I wouldn’t have Elana.”

“She chose Cullen, not you.”

“His body would be rotting if not for me.”

“Which is why I will help you exist, but you do not get to keep her. I won’t let you.”

“You can’t force me to leave this body, to leave _her_.”

A shadow of a smile flitted across Cole’s lips. “I won’t have to.”

Damon scoffed, starting down the stairs before he lashed out. Anger, resentment, spite: he couldn’t let them take control. He was still too weak, too changeable.

“I have everything prepared for when you change your mind,” Cole called to him upstairs. “It must be done soon, _Cullen_.”

“Fuck Compassion,” Damon muttered under his breath. He took deep breaths as he returned to Elana’s room, focusing on the stretch of his chest, on the way his lungs filled and expanded, on the whoosh of air as it left him. He focused on the scratch of his undershirt, the way the leather cords of his breeches dug into his hips.

“Cullen!”

Damon stopped short, turning the Inquisitor. She was half dressed with a loose shirt that hung down to her knees, her trousers on the bed behind her.

He ran to her.

Catching her up in his arms, he kissed her hard, arms wrapping around her waist as he held her off the ground.

“You waited for me.”

Elana laughed, her fingers tracing the shell of his ear. “Of course I did. I said I would.” She kissed the tip of his nose, utterly relaxed in his hold. “Now will you tell me what’s going on?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Ever since last night, something’s been… I don’t know.” She pressed a hand to his forehead and his chest tightened. Worry leaked through the tips of her fingers and trickled through his skin, making his body tense.

_Demon. Monster. Don’t touch me!_

“I…” Damon stared at her, his words faltering. Cullen. He was Cullen. “I meant what I said this morning. You mean everything to me, Elana. Without you…”

Would he even be able to hold his body together? This world was loud with distractions, a thousand different things all vying for his attention. She grounded it all, became the focal point, the constant in a world of inconsistency.

Her kiss was soft and intoxicating. She pulled out of his arms only to tug him towards the bed.

Damon lay down with her but stilled her hands when they started to tug at his shirt. “Not yet,” he explained at her confused glance. Wrapping his arms about her waist, he curled up against her. She was warm. Warm and soft. She fit perfectly against him, her body naturally shifting into a comfortable position in his arms.

“I want you to be happy.” Damon’s voice broke on the final word and he buried his face into her hair. It had been the first thing he’d touched in this world. It made a sickening sense for it to be the last. “What is it that you desire most in this world?”

Elana swiveled in his hold and he laughed at the exaggerated wriggle of her hips. “Is it terribly cliché of me to say that you’re what I want most?”

“Yes,” he said with a smile. “Absolutely terrible.”

She grinned in their kiss, finger feather-light on his face. “I love you, Cullen.”

“I know you do.” He traced an absent finger along the curve of her jaw. “I feel the same. Remember that. Whatever happens to me, remember that I love you. Promise me you will.”

“Cullen, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he lied, tightening his hold on her. “Just promise me.”

“I—I promise.”

“Tell me you love me.”

She frowned but said the words.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again,” he mumbled, burying his face into her neck.

“I love you.”

Again.

I love you.

Again.

I love you.

 _I love you_. 


	7. I live, I die, I live again

Screaming woke her.

Elana kicked at the restraints around her, yelping as she fell off her bed and onto the stone floor. Her blankets were swathed around her arms and she kicked and struggled to be free. Dressed only in a shirt, she grabbed the top sheet and wrapping it around her waist for modesty before fleeing down the stairs.

Nobles and soldiers alike were running out the main doors. She followed them, pushing and shouting her way through the crowd until she reached the doors of the Herald’s Rest where Bull stood guard with a grim expression.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“A damned demon showed up out of nowhere. Something happened to Cullen.” Bull shifted to the side, leaving enough room for her to slip through before closing the gap again.

“Cullen?!” His name left her in a high-pitched shriek as she ran up the steps three at a time. She passed several patrons sat cowering beneath the tables, arms trembling around their heads.

“Up here,” Cole called from his perch. He was crouching before Cullen’s still body, a hand on the man’s neck. “He’s breathing.”

 _Thank the Maker_.

Elana rested her hands on her knees, breathing hard as she fell to her knees at Cullen’s side. He skin was deathly pale, his lips and eyelids both a shade bluer than they should’ve been. She kissed the corner of his mouth, relief flooding her when she felt the faint stirring of his breath on her lips.

“What happened to Cullen?” she demanded.

“He’s _alive_.”

She frowned at his emphasis, checking Cullen over. His pulse was weak but steady and his skin held warmth. “What happened to him?”

“Da—the demon attacked him. Hit his head. He may not remember things correctly.”

“Any other injuries?”

“No. The Commander will be fine. He… he will live.”  

Elana pulled Cullen into her arms, cradling his neck. His eyes fluttered and a deep groan fell from his lips when his gaze focused on her.

“Maker’s breath, but my head hurts.” He brought a hand to his forehead, fingers shaking as he did so. “I thought I was… Where are we?”

“Skyhold. Herald’s Rest. There was a demon: do you remember?”

“Demon…? Yes, I—I remember something about demons. It was cold and everything kept changing and…” he groaned again and she pulled him closer, pressing another kiss to his forehead.

“Cole,” Elana said, “where’s the demon now?”

Cole turned and stretched out an arm.

A Desire demon lay on the floor. Its nails were embedded in the wood, gold eyes glazed over and vacant. One of Cole’s daggers protruded out of its back where the creature’s heart would’ve been.

“He couldn’t handle the distractions,” Cole said. “Noises bubbling, building, burning him from the inside out. I want to touch her again, she was mine— _is_ mine. Why does it hurt?”

Elana placed her hand on Cole’s shoulder and he jumped. Elana glanced over the demon’s corpse, shuddering as she wondered how the demon could’ve broken into Skyhold.

“You did the right thing, Cole. It was a monster.”

His hat flopped down over his eyes. There was a slight quiver to his chin. “I know. He tried to be something more, but he couldn’t make it work. This is what he wanted, in the end.”

Elana turned from the spirit, gathering Cullen in her arms as she helped him to his feet. He stumbled and faltered against her, his arm heavy on her shoulders. He mumbled into her hair about running through lands filled with mist and his hold on her tightened.

“Cole, will you help me?”

“Just a moment.”

Elana started down the stairs, lugging the Commander with her. She turned at the landing, watching Cole as he closed the demon’s eyes before leaving the body to help take Cullen away. 


End file.
